


the perfect souvenir (is just a fairy's flight away)

by calculus



Series: imagination is the destination [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Casual Gendered Slurs, M/M, Pre-Slash, casual ableist language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calculus/pseuds/calculus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s sneaking glances at Derek like it’s the second grade all over again. His palms are sweaty, held on his lap and his fingers fiddling around. Erica’s just sitting back, looking particularly smirky and satisfied, arms folded behind her head like she’s got nothing better to do than to witness Stiles break down all day.</p>
<p>Amelia is a smug bitch right now, having coaxed Derek into drawing up a chair to their table and reeling him into a conversation about how his family was and how the trip’s been going on so far. She keeps looking back at Stiles with that stupid cheeky grin of hers, and all Stiles wants to do is claw her damn face off. And then go die in a little hole somewhere.</p>
<p>Derek’s laughing. God. Even his laughter is gorgeous.</p>
<p>Fuck.</p>
<p><br/>Or, in which Stiles and Derek are awkward turtles, and Stiles becomes Peter Pan for a day.</p>
<p>(aka the disneyland!au continues!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the perfect souvenir (is just a fairy's flight away)

**Author's Note:**

> this is part of a series, starting with [the future is today (so ready your rockets)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/567340) and [don't worry, the future still has pizza!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/597056), and picks up where the latter aforementioned fic leaves off, so if you're coming in just now, i'd recommend reading the first two first because there may be some confusion.
> 
> general disclaimer: i really, really, _really_ don't know how disneyland/world works, everything i write here aside from the landmarks/rides is made up. please don't think this is how things really go on backstage because i really don't think it is. and on that note, i write for amusement, not for accuracy, so yeah. laziness abounds, guys, sorry.
> 
> tl;dr shhhhhh just close your eyes and pretend
> 
> ps. i changed my oc's name to amelia (for those of you who've read the previous fics) bc there is already an existing harley in tw-verse. left a note in my last fic for more details, but yeah. just to clear up any confusion.

He’s sneaking glances at Derek like it’s the second grade all over again. His palms are sweaty, held on his lap and his fingers fiddling around. Erica’s just sitting back, looking particularly smirky and satisfied, arms folded behind her head like she’s got nothing better to do than to witness Stiles break down all day.

Amelia is a smug bitch right now, having coaxed Derek into drawing up a chair to their table and reeling him into a conversation about how his family was and how the trip’s been going on so far. She keeps looking back at Stiles with that stupid cheeky grin of hers, and all Stiles wants to do is claw her damn face off. And then go die in a little hole somewhere.

Derek’s laughing. God. Even his laughter is gorgeous.

Fuck.

“--about that, let me introduce you to my friends, loser,” says Amelia, shoving at Derek’s shoulder, her voice filtering into Stiles’ rapidly panicking mind. He blinks, steals another glance at Derek and finds himself caught when Derek looks straight back at him with his gorgeous multi-colored eyes.

“This is Erica, over here, one of the cast members working at the rides, and the guy you’re making cow eyes at is Stiles,” Amelia says loudly, drawing both their attentions. Stiles can already feel his face flaming fire-engine red, but it’s a little more than gratifying to see the hint of pink brush across Derek’s stubbled cheeks.

“Hi, Derek. It’s nice to meet you; I’ve heard quite a bit about you and your family,” Erica purrs, leaning in, arms now folded over the table. She side-glances Stiles with a cock of her eyebrow. “I hear you had an eventful morning at Space Mountain.”

Derek clears his throat, shifting a little, but keeps the smile on his face polite. “Just normal kid tantrums, nothing big. Stiles here helped,” he nods at Stiles, who’s doing his best impression of a turtle in his shell. Derek’s smile grows a little wider, a little more personal when he focuses on Stiles. “Didn’t remember to thank you for that before. Lily can be a real pain when she’s really excited about something. I might’ve actually taken her back to Mom and just sat there the entire time, so thanks for saving the both of us from boredom.”

Stiles fidgets and waves the thanks away nervously. “No, no, it’s nothing. Just doing my duty as a cast member, is all.” Erica snorts.

“Uh huh. I would’ve let her cry, honestly, if I’d been working that queue. No offense to you or your sister,” she says hurriedly to Derek, who only gives her a raised eyebrow and an unamused expression. “Right. Anyway. I gotta jet, guys, my lunch break is over in a few minutes, and I need to go make sure that idiot Sanjeet doesn’t touch my fucking dials because I will cut his dick off if he messes them up like he did last time. Nice meeting you, Derek!” She stands up abruptly, tray in hand, and smiles at Derek and Amelia and Stiles and walks off.

Stiles blinks once, twice, startled by Erica’s sudden retreat before her words sink in, and whips out his phone to check the time. He curses, and shoots up from his seat, banging his knee against the table stand in the process, and then curses some more, hopping in place from the shooting pain.

“Fuck, fuck, ow, fuck, ow, ow, ow. Sorry, I gotta go too, sorry, I totally forgot,” says Stiles in between hops and muttered curses. Too occupied with the fact that he’s going to be late for his afternoon shift, which means Finstock is going to _eat_ him alive, Stiles gives both Amelia and Derek a distracted smile as he scoops up his tray and trash. “See you later, Amelia. It’s been nice meeting you, Derek, sorry I can’t stay and chat longer.”

He misses the elbow jab Amelia gives Derek and the pointed jerk of her head towards Stiles’ moving form, but he definitely hears Derek clear his throat and push away from the table.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll go with you. Walk you back, if that’s okay?” Derek clarifies when Stiles gives him an incredulous look.

“You--you, you what?” Stiles stutters, Derek’s words rattling in his brain. What. He’s not hearing things right, clearly, Derek didn’t just offer to escort him back to his post like a schoolgirl with her first boyfriend, no, no, his mind’s playing tricks on him again. He jostles his tray a little, adjusting his stance.

Derek looks embarrassed, flustered with Stiles’ response, and makes to sit back down again. “I mean, if you don’t want me to--I just, I thought--” Stiles throws out his arm, catching Derek’s sleeve.

“No, no! No, I totally didn’t mean that I didn’t want that, I was just, I was surprised! No, please, I totally wouldn’t mind you walking back with me, I’d love the company!” he blurts, keeping his grip tight.

(In the background, Amelia watches with horrified amusement because she’s awful like that, and tries to hold back her high-pitched squeaks over her best friend’ and co-worker’s fail. Erica shouldn’t have left so soon.)

Stiles is probably going to get an earful from Finstock by now, but he suddenly really wants Derek to walk him back, really wants the probably awkward small-talk and the fidgeting and the nervous babble and the blushing because Derek Hale is offering to spend more time with him (three more minutes, even!), and Stiles isn’t reading this wrong, right, this is clearly a sign that Derek’s interested, so he needs him to get the fuck back up and escort Stiles back like a fucking princess or there will be _words_.

“Wow. As much as I’d love to sit here all day and watch your epic love story unfold, Stiles, you really need to go, so Derek, get the fuck up and just walk with him, _god_. Your little brother has more balls than you, jesus, and he’s _three_ ,” quips Amelia, looking pityingly at the two of them. She raises from her chair with more grace than Stiles had displayed, and yanks Derek back up from his half-squatting position with surprising strength, making him stumble a little.

“Oh my god, Amelia, are you fucking kidding me right now?” Derek scowls, face the shade of a ripening tomato, his sleeve still captive in Stiles’ grasp. Stiles just looks up at the ceiling in askance, trying to not die from embarrassment, and wishes for knives to fall down on Amelia.

The girl just rolls her eyes and waves them off with a condescending smirk, picking up her lunch tray, and marches away without another word, leaving the two boys standing awkwardly around the table.

Derek glares after her and then glances back at Stiles, eyes flicking to his captive sleeve and then back to his face. Stiles makes a noise and immediately lets go, snatching his hand back like it’d been slapped.

Cue the fidgeting.

“So. Uh. I’m just going to, uh, go, because I really do need to get back to work, so, uh,” Stiles says after a few seconds of agonizing silence, practically vibrating in his spot, white knuckling his lunch tray, “I’ll, um, see you around? Maybe?” His voice rises at the end, hopeful, and he wants to beat himself for it.

Derek shakes his head quickly, and the rising balloon of hope suddenly crashes and Stiles feels sick now.

“No, no, I’ll walk with you. Come on,” Derek says and _grabs_ Stiles’ wrist as he starts walking towards the exit. Stiles gapes, flabbergasted (and holy god, he’s touching him, Derek Hale is actually holding his hand), and only just remembers to set his tray by the garbage stands before being tugged out of the restaurant.

“W-wait, what about your family?” stutters Stiles, trying to get a grip on the situation. He pulls his arm away and stops, a few feet from the restaurant’s entrance. Derek turns around, eyebrows furrowed. “I mean, shouldn’t they know you’re going somewhere else? Not, not that you’re not a grown man or anything and clearly, you should be able to walk around Disneyland without having to let your family know where you are, what am I even saying, wow. Okay, I’m just going to go now.” Cheeks red, Stiles flails a little, trying to physically throw his words away, and then deflates with humiliation at the amused look on Derek’s face. He turns himself in the direction of Space Mountain and starts walking, leaving Derek and his dignity behind.

Derek follows.

(Fucking dignity.)

-

They don’t talk on the walk back, Stiles too fed up with himself, but Derek keeps flicking his eyes to Stiles’ face and then back every few seconds, quirking his mouth up to one side. Stiles doesn’t admit that he’s doing the same when Derek’s not looking.

It’s all ridiculously high school.

Stiles stops by the back entrance, where only cast members are allowed to go through, and turns to Derek, hands itching to do something.

“So, um, this is as far as you can go, space cadet. Only trained personnel from here on in,” he says with a practiced grin, trying to bring in some levity to the silence. Derek rolls his eyes, but curls his lips into a small smile. “But, seriously, thanks for walking me back, it was all very 50s. Not that I minded or anything. You didn’t have to go out of your way to do that, so thanks.”

“I wanted to,” Derek replied, tone shy and completely at odds with his general appearance. His eyes glance at Stiles for a minute and then shift to more neutral scenery. “I, uh, I was wondering if you--”

Stiles’ phone rings shrill into the clearing, blocking out the rest of Derek’s sentence, and he’s never wanted to throw his phone against the pavement and just step on it until it bled plastic and microchip. He gives Derek an apologetic wince, mouths, “Sorry!” and picks up the call.

“What.”

“STILINSKI. WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU,” bellows Finstock’s tinny voice over the phone. Stiles winces again, and hunches into himself as his boss screams.

“Sorry! Sorry! I’m right outside, I’ll be right there, I’m so sorry!” he babbles placatingly. Risking more ire, he holds the phone away, hand covering the speaker, and offers Derek a sorry expression. “I’m really sorry, I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe? Sorry, Derek, thanks for walking me here!”

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Derek echoes, looking a little dejected.

Stiles raises a hand in apology and swings the back door open to meet his doom.

-

Mornings are such shit.

Stiles makes to it to the main room with a large black coffee in hand, ready to punch in his arrival and start the day with a caffeine-laced smile on his face for the kids. Finstock’s in his office, swearing loudly and creatively, and he sees Isaac inside wincing, apparently the one being yelled at.

He makes his way to the couch where Erica’s lounging and shoves her feet off to plop down next to her, grunting when she plucks his coffee out of his hands for a sip.

“What’s going on with our dear old manager today?” he asks, looking back over his shoulder at the open office. Erica snorts and takes a big gulp of coffee before shoving it back into Stiles’ hands.

“Our lovely Peter Pan had apparently decided he really could fly--without pixie dust, even--last night while he was hanging out with Scott, and ended up fracturing his leg like the idiot that he is,” Erica drawls, sneering at the door. Stiles snorts into his coffee.

“Oh jeez.” He’s distracted by Boyd striding into the room, whose presence draws the room’s attention immediately, like the Prince Charming he plays. Erica spares him a lingering glance and then looks back to where Isaac sits in the office, hunching into himself.

“Looks like Finstock’s about to have a coronary, wow,” marvels Erica, arching her neck to get a better look at the near-purple face of their supervising manager. Stiles hums, not paying much attention to anything else but his aromatic French roast.

Finstock stomps out, just then, pulling at his hair, eyes bulging out with crazed panic, and Isaac hobbling out after him with his crutches.

“Okay, team, we have a real problem here,” says Finstock frantically, one hand waving in the air and the other fisted in his hair. “We need a new Peter Pan for today’s autograph signing because genius over here can’t actually walk anymore, and our two understudies are out because apparently Michael would rather go to a wedding than spread joy to little children and Dante’s sick with some tropical disease, I don’t even know.” He flaps his hand dismissively. “Point is, I need a Peter, guys, somebody find me a Peter!”

Somebody from the back room yells out, “Greenberg can do it! He filled in for Jackson last time, didn’t he?” Finstock makes a face.

“Are you kidding me? Greenberg is banned from playing Disney characters, _banned_! Do you not remember the last time he had to fill in for someone? There were _tears and screaming_ , and not from the kids,” he hisses. “No, I need someone who can actually pretend like he enjoys giving out autographs and taking pictures with screaming brats.” He pauses. “And can fit in Isaac’s tights.”

Erica chokes suddenly and raises her hand up, coughing.

“Stiles, I vote Stiles!” she cries out.

_What._

“WHAT,” Stiles yelps shrilly, jerking away from Erica and almost spilling his coffee on his uniform. Finstock’s head swivels to glare at Stiles.

“Bilinski? Really?” He looks consideringly at Stiles, hand brought up to rub at his chin. “You know how to forge a signature?” Before Stiles can answer, Finstock does a double-take and looks up and down at Stiles’ lounging body with narrowed eyes. “You sure you can even fit in tights?”

Stiles sputters. “Hey, I’m lithe, okay! I can totally work the tights!”

(Erica is crying with silent laughter beside him, and Isaac looks like he wants to do the same, pain notwithstanding.)

Finstock scrunches his nose up in consideration and shakes his head. “No, no, you really don’t give off the Peter Pan vibe to me. Anyone else?”

Stiles scowls, miffed at being dismissed so quickly even though he’s not exactly jumping for the opportunity to have to stand outside on what the weather people have apparently promised to be a particularly scorching day. “Well, it’s me or Greenberg, sir. I don’t really see anybody else here waving their hands.” He gestures the silent room.

Erica claps her hand decisively, looking smugly satisfied.

“Well, then it’s settled! Congratulations, Stiles, you’re the new leader of the Lost Boys!” she crows, and Stiles cannot _even_.

He feels a little set up.

-

He’s stuffed into Isaac’s spare costume almost immediately and dragged off to the actors’ corner for makeup and hair. Since he’s only filling in for the day, Allison, their head coordinator, opts for a light temporary spray-on dye of his hair.

While Allison’s brushing on foundation to cover up his moles, Isaac teaches Stiles how to write the classic Peter Pan signature, correcting his loops and curls until he comes up with a passable forge.

Erica catcalls when she sees him, makes him do the whole 360 spin, and loudly proclaims him to be the best Peter yet, much to Isaac’s comical affront, and gets in a good grope of his ass before pushing him out.

As Stiles adjusts his feathered cap and pulls down on his tunic front, he spares a thought that he wouldn’t being seeing Derek at all today as promised, but it’s not like Derek would really come back again just to see him, right? And Amelia said his family would be here all week, so it’s not like he won’t see him tomorrow anyway?

Still. It would’ve been nice if Derek had actually come visit.

-

Stiles is stationed outside close by the exit of Peter Pan’s Flight so that kids coming off the ride can come out for a quick picture or autograph. He’s signed quite a few books already, given a couple of hugs to some truly adorable children, and had to pose for a considerable amount of pictures with whole families.

(He’s been groped no less than four times, and it’s distressingly appalling because Isaac had pulled him off to the side before he had gone out to warn him about the grabby ones, but he didn’t really think they’d _actually_ do it.)

He’s crouching down for a nice shot with a little boy and girl on either side of him, grinning with as much boyish charm as he can manage, when he overhears his name faintly being said near the gift store at the ride exit.

“--not like you can’t see this boy, Stiles, tomorrow or anything, stop being such a big baby, Derek!” says a woman loudly. “God, it’s like high school all over again with that Kate girl, stop _moping_ , you’re harshing my vacation here.”

“Laura, leave your brother be. He’s entitled to any feelings he wants to feel, even if he’s being particularly depressing for the rest of us,” admonishes another woman, and Stiles wants nothing more than to turn his head around right this second because _holy shit_.

“Yeah, Derek, even mom thinks you’re being a Debbie Downer,” quips a teenage boy. The voices seem to be getting closer, and Stiles makes sure his smile is pasted squarely on his face as the camera flash goes off before he hurriedly rises up, giving both kids by his side a quick hug, and turns towards the direction of the voices.

“Shut _up_ , Billy,” growls Derek, and Stiles could almost call the tone petulant if he didn’t know any better. He arches his neck to catch a glimpse of Derek’s tall frame amongst all the bustling tourists, ignoring the two girls waiting for their picture for a quick second.

“Mom, mom, it’s Peter Pan! Can we go take a picture, please please please?” yells Lily, and Stiles turns his head in the direction of her voice to find her sitting on the shoulders of a brunet man only a few yards away, pointing excitedly at Stiles’ still form. She’s accompanied by six other people, Derek included, all who look in the direction of where she’s pointing, but Stiles only has eyes for Derek, who’s been trailing behind his family apparently in the back, who only stopped walking because they stopped too. He only looks up with a long-suffering expression to where Lily’s indicating, but it melts away when he catches sight of Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t hold his breath or anything. It’s not like their eyes lock onto each other and the world kind of drips away, leaving only them standing.

The two girls cough loudly, and Stiles is drawn away immediately, blushing fiercely because he’s not the girl in this scenario for fuck’s sake. _He’s not._

He smiles apologetically at the girls, ignores their tittering and tries not to look at where Derek’s family’s been dragged to his meet-and-greet line for a picture with Peter Pan. Holds his smile in place when one of them surreptitiously brush over his ass, and waves the next family in line for their turn.

It feels like almost a year by the time the Hales make it to the front of the line, and Stiles is already going out of his mind. He signs the girl’s book with a flourish, gives a her a wide smile and her family a jaunty wave, and then turns to greet the smiling faces of all six Hales, who are looking at him with polite interest.

“Hello there, folks!” He smiles brightly, unnerved, and puts his hands on his hips. “Who’s ready for a picture with the leader of the Lost Boys?”

Lily waves--flails, actually, almost cuffing her ride’s head--and is gently placed to the ground so she can run up for a big hug with Stiles. Stiles chuckles and crouches down to return the hug, squeezing her gently before pulling back.

“Hi, little girl. What’s your name?” he asks with a grin. Lily looks at him for a second, smile fading away into an assessing look, and gasps with shock.

“You’re the guy from Space Mountain! The magician!” she says with wonder. “You’re Peter Pan? Mom! Peter Pan did magic tricks for me yesterday!” She turns with a gleeful smile to her mother, whose previous polite smile widens into something more sincere--and calculating?

“Oh my, is that true? Derek, honey, is this the guy who you wanted to see so badly earlier?” she says, giving the uncomfortable-looking man a knowing glance.

“ _Mom_ , please,” Derek bites out, looking like he wants to be anywhere but here. Stiles holds back the grin he so desperately wants to have, and nods somberly to Lily, still crouching.

“That I am, little girl. But don’t tell anybody, yeah? It’s a secret,” he says, winking, and bringing a finger up to his lips. Lily nods eagerly, clearly ecstatic that Peter Pan brought her into his confidence, and Stiles smiles. “Now, how about a picture?” He looks up at the whole family, taking in Derek’s unnerving gaze. “One for the whole family?”

The man who held Lily tilts his head in thought, and shrugs. “Why not? It’s been awhile since I’ve taken a picture with Peter Pan.” He tosses a sly grin to Derek. “And I know Derek’s always been _such_ a fan of your work.”

Derek chokes and glares at the man. “Seriously, Uncle Peter? You too?” Peter only grins wider and nods to the other woman and teenage boy by Derek’s right who are currently whispering to each other and sneaking glances at Stiles.

“I’d be more worried about what Billy and Laura are going to do if I were you,” he says blithely and takes out a camera. He turns to ask the family behind him for a quick photo, leaving Stiles to face the rest of the family, still holding onto Lily in a loose embrace.

“So, uh.” Crap. What to say, what to say.

“Okay, awesome, thanks! Gather ‘round, kids, picture time!” says Peter brightly, turning back around after handing over his camera to the husband-husband duo behind them, and claps his hand authoritatively. Laura, Billy, and Derek give him simultaneous bitch looks, and Stiles has to hide his smile behind Lily. Derek’s mom laughs lightly and pulls the three in as they all crowd around Stiles and Lily.

“Say cheese!” chirps the smiling husband wearing Mickey Mouse ears, bringing the camera up to his face for the picture. There’s a chorus of ‘cheese’ and wide smiles all around, and Stiles has never felt so blinded by the relative attractiveness around him. He blinks, and the flash goes off, momentarily blinding him.

He rubs his eyes when the picture’s taken, tries to get the white spots out of his vision and opens his eyes to Derek’s concerned face leaning down towards him, only a feet of distance away from his own, and he’s not ashamed to admit a bit of a girlish shriek escapes his vocal tract while he falls on his ass trying to get away and no one can hold it against him because it was warranted, ok.

“Derek! Seriously, stop creeping on people, it’s so unattractive,” mock-admonishes Laura, tossing her dark brown hair away from her face and smirking. “God, we can’t take you anywhere.”

Derek looks both sheepish and a bit mortified, if Stiles is reading his expression correctly, and he gets up quickly, brushing off the dirt from his tights, missing the side-glance Derek gives his body, lingering around his thighs and ass.

“No, no, I was just startled, it’s fine,” Stiles assures Derek, ignoring the amused eyebrow Laura raises in response. He offers a smile, which Derek returns abashedly.

Billy coughs something that sound suspiciously like, “I’m gonna barf,” to which Derek responds with a furious glare. Laura laughs, though, and corrals Billy into a chokehold and what seems to be a particularly painful noogie, judging by his loud yells of “Uncle! Uncle!”

Their mother sighs loudly and Peter draws Lily back up onto his shoulders, which she goes to happily with a cry of glee.

“I’m so sorry for taking up for so much time, the kids behind us must be getting pretty antsy,” apologizes Derek’s mother, clasping Stiles’ hand. “Thank you for the wonderful picture. We’ll be going now.” She looks sharply at her children, who all immediately straighten up, and gestures with a finger to march off. Giving Stiles another smile and a quick handshake, she walks after her children, Peter in tow.

Stiles watches them go, wants to shout to Derek that he’ll see him later, but the next family in line comes right up, the husbands and their little toddler surging up for their turn, drawing his attention away.

-

The session ends just after noon passes, into the biggest wave of heat yet, and Stiles is surprised by how exhausted he feels. If this is how Isaac and Boyd feel all the time, then he really doesn’t envy their job.

He’s changed back into his day clothes, done for the day--a perk for taking up Isaac’s shift, and meandering around Fantasyland, debating whether he should eat lunch indoors or just grab a turkey leg, when he hears his name being called out faintly. Spinning around, Stiles turns towards the direction of the voice, and finds Derek trying to fight through the crowds of families to get to him. A smile crosses his face immediately, a giddy butterfly dancing the samba in his ribcage, and he lifts his hand up in a wave.

“Hey, Derek!” he calls out, and waits until Derek gets past most of the families to continue. “I didn’t think you’d still be here! How’d you even find me?”

Derek comes to a stop a few feet away and bends over his knees a little to catch his breath. Huh, must’ve been quite a run. He looks up with a particularly dazzling smile, and Stiles wants it known that his heart did not stutter at all. Not one bit.

“I followed your red mop of hair,” Derek huffs out, making a vague motion to the general direction of Stiles’s head. “And my family likes to savor each part of the park, so today’s Fantasyland day.” He straightens up with a final huff. The sunlight catches in his hair, making a bright outline of his figure, and wow.

Stiles’s utterly charmed, god help him.

“Oh, yeah, forgot to wash the dye off, hah,” Stiles says, ruffling a hand through his hair. “So, um, what’s up? I mean, I thought you’d be hanging around with your family?”

“Oh, um.” Derek flicks his eyes to the ground for a moment and then back to Stiles’ face. “I, uh, thought we could hang out? Today? If you’re free, I mean.”

“Me? You wanna hang out with me?” Uh, yes? A million times yes, please? “Yes! I’m totally up for that, yeah, let’s do that!” He sounds a little too giddy, but fuck that.

“Yeah?” Derek positively lights up, smile lines coming out with how widely he’s smiling at Stiles.

So fucking high school, and he doesn’t even _care._

“Yeah, definitely. Wanna grab a turkey leg with me?” Stiles asks, practically bouncing on his toes.

“Sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> sorry. the writing quality just got away from me. everything's unbeta'ed, as were the last two fics in this series, which may explain some things, i don't know.
> 
> honestly, my only driving thought was to get them out of tomorrowland, and i've accomplished that, so yay me. ahahahaha.
> 
> comments are my lifeblood, please feed me so I can continue to live ahaha


End file.
